


Just a Little Time

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half of an art trade for Veolu on Tumblr. Anders musing about Akari Amell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Little Time

Healers have good hands.

That makes for a good pick-up line, especially in places like Kinloch Hold where affection and comfort are scarce and everyone’s dying for a little bit of human contact. Nothing makes an apprentice melt faster than a smile, a wink, and the claim that a healer knows every single nook and cranny of a human’s body, or an elf’s, if that’s what they fancy. 

It’s true, though, the thing about healers. They have to know the body, to know when something isn’t right, to know when a chill is just a cold or something more serious, to feel the lump of a dislocated rib, or to know internal bleeding without seeing the bruise. A good healer can run her thumb down your spine and tell you a hundred things about your health, whether you want to know them or not.

But he couldn’t just say that; he couldn’t go up to her, all cocksure and smirking, and say “Hey, Commander, did you know that healers have good hands?” She was worth more than that; she was worth more than him, but that was another story.

It was a pity he just couldn’t show her. He’d take his time with her, undo her long braid and comb her hair with his fingers, kiss each cheek gently, brush her skin softly against his, the rasp of stubble just a tantalizing change in texture, not rough enough to burn. Yes, he’d take his time, he’d kiss her eyelashes and her nose; he’d make her smile, and it would be a beautiful smile, the kind meant for a lover, the kind he was sure he hadn’t seen on her lips yet, a secret, perfect smile. Her eyes would slide shut, because she’d trust him, and that trust would be better than the love, really. Who had ever trusted him?

He thought she might actually trust him now, she was a mage as well, she understood. She’d known Kinloch Hold just as well as he had, maybe better; she never escaped, never spent a year in solitary confinement for “crimes” like desiring freedom or desiring a life. But that was behind him; they were even more similar now; they wore the same uniform, the same corruption flowed in their veins.

He bet she had tension in her shoulders, with the way she held that staff. He could work that out, all it took was fingertips and pressure and time, no magic required, just a lengthy, gentle massage, and then she’d feel much better the next day. Of course, if she kept holding that staff like that, he’d need to do it again, but he’d be happy to, anything to give her a measure of what he felt for her, to take it from his skin and work it into hers, like casting a spell, like wrapping his fingertips around spider web softness of the Fade and bringing it into the word.

All he needed was time, time to learn her body the way he knew her eyes, time to show her what he could do with his lips and tongue, much less his hands. He wouldn’t need his hands, not when he could spend a lifetime on her neck, on her ears, on her breasts and belly. He’d find her, the way nobody had, no matter how many had come before him, he’d be the one to find her, to help her lose herself and bring her back again, with just the tip of his tongue.

Maybe he’d try it one day, when they were sitting alone, talking, maybe having a drink or something.

“Hey Akari, did you ever hear the one about healers and their hands?” 


End file.
